One Corpse Too Many (16 page)

Torold went to ground among the bushes, and watched him approach. A big, rawboned, powerful but unhandsome horse, dappled from cream to darkest grey, and the rider a young fellow black-haired and olive-complexioned, with a thin, assured, saturnine face and an arrogantly easy carriage in the saddle. It was this light, elegant seat of his, and the striking colouring of the horse, that caught Torold’s closer attention. This was the very beast he had seen leading the patrol along the riverside at dawn, and this same man had surely lighted down from his mount and gone first into Torold’s abandoned sanctuary at the mill. Then he had been attended by half a dozen footmen, and had emerged to loose them in after him, before they all mustered again and moved on. Torold was sure of this identification; he had had good reason to watch very closely, dreading that in spite of his precautions they might yet find some detail to arouse suspicion. This was the same horse, and the same man. Now he rode past upstream, apparently negligent and unobservant, but Torold knew better. There was nothing this man missed as be rode, those were lively, witty, formidable eyes that cast such seemingly languid looks about him.

But now his back was turned, and no one else moved at the moment in these evening fields. If he rode on far enough, Torold might attempt the crossing. Even if he misjudged in his haste and soaked himself, he could not possibly drown in this stream, and the night would be warm. Go he must, and find his way to Godith’s bed, and somehow get some reassurance.

The king’s officer rode on, oblivious, to the limit of the level ground, never turning his head. And no other creature stirred. Torold picked himself up and ran for it, across the open mead, into the brook, picking his footing by luck and instinct well enough, and out upon the pale, shaven fields on the other side. Like a mole burrowing into earth, he burrowed into the stack of haulms. In the turmoil of this day it was no surprise to find boat and bundle vanished, and he had no time to consider whether the omen was bad or good. He drew the disturbed stems about him, a stiff, creamy lace threaded by sunlight and warmth, and lay quivering, his face turned to peer through the network to where the enemy rode serenely.

And the enemy had also turned, sitting the dappled horse motionless, gazing downstream as though some pricking of his thumbs had warned him. For some minutes he remained still, as easy as before, and yet as alert; then he began the return journey, as softly as he had traced it upstream.

Torold held his breath and watched him come. He made no haste, but rode his beat in idle innocence, having nothing to do, and nothing but this repeated to and fro to pass the time here. But when he drew opposite the pease-fields he reined in, and sat gazing across the brook long and steadily, and his eyes homed in upon the loose stack of haulms, and lingered. Torold thought he saw the dark face melt into a secret smile; he even thought the raised bridle-hand made a small movement that could have been a salute. Though that was idiocy, he must have imagined it! For the horseman was moving on downstream on his patrol, gazing towards the outflow from the mill and the confluence with the river beyond. Never a glance behind.

Torold lay down under his weightless covering, burrowed his tired head into his arms, and his hips into the springy turf of the headland, and fell asleep in sheer, exhausted reaction. When he awoke it was more than half dark, and very quiet. He lay for a while listening intently, and then wormed his way out into a pallid solitude above a deserted valley, and crept furtively up the slope into the abbey gardens, moving alone among the myriad sun-warmed scents of Cadfael’s herbs. He found the hut, its door hospitably open to the twilight, and peered almost fearfully into the warm silence and gloom within.

“Praise God!” said Brother Cadfael, rising from the bench to haul him briskly within. “I thought you’d aim for here, I’ve been keeping an eye open for you every half-hour or so, and at last I have you. Here, sit down and ease your heart, we’ve come through well enough!”

Urgent and low, Torold asked the one thing that mattered:

“Where is Godith?”

Chapter Nine

GODITH, IF HE HAD BUT KNOWN IT, was at that moment viewing her own reflection in Aline’s glass, which Constance was holding well away from her to capture more of the total image. Washed and combed and arrayed in one of Aline’s gowns, brocaded in brown and gold thread, with a thin gold bandeau of Aline’s round her curls, she turned this way and that to admire herself with delight at being female again, and her face was no longer that of an urchin, but of an austere young gentlewoman aware of her advantages. The soft candlelight only made her more mysterious and strange in her own eyes.

“I wish he could see me like this,” she said wistfully, forgetting that so far she had not mentioned any he except Brother Cadfael, and could not now, even to Aline, reveal anything concerning Torold’s person and errand beyond his name. Concerning herself she had told almost everything, but that was the acknowledgement of a debt.

“There is a he?” asked Aline, sparking with sympathetic curiosity. “And he will escort you? Wherever you are going? No, I mustn’t ask you anything, it would be unfair. But why shouldn’t you wear the dress for him? Once away, you can as well travel as yourself as you can in boy’s clothes.”

“I doubt it,” said Godith ruefully. “Not the way we shall be travelling.”

“Then take it with you. You could put it in that great bundle of yours. I have plenty, and if you are going with nothing, then you’ll need a gown for when you reach safety.”

“Oh, if you knew how you tempt me! You are kind! But I couldn’t take it. And we shall have weight enough to carry, the first miles. But I do thank you, and I shall never forget.”

She had tried on, for pure pleasure, Constance assisting with relish, every dress Aline had with her, and in every one she had imagined herself confronting Torold, without warning, and studying his astonished and respectful face. And somehow, in spite of not knowing where he was or how he was faring, she had spent a blissful afternoon, unshaken by doubts. Certainly he would see her in her splendour, if not in this in other fine gowns, in jewels, with her hair, grown long again, plaited and coiled upon her head in a gold circlet like this one. Then she recalled how she had sat beside him, the two of them companionably eating plums and committing the stones to the Severn through the floorboards of the mill, and she laughed. What use would it ever be, putting on airs with Torold?

She was in the act of lifting the circlet from her head when they all heard the sudden but circumspect knocking on the outer door, and for a moment froze into wary stillness, looking at one another aghast.

“Do they mean to search here, after all?” wondered Godith in a shocked whisper. “Have I brought you into danger?”

“No! Adam assured me I should not be disturbed, this morning, when they came.” AIine rose resolutely. “You stay here with Constance, and bolt the door. I’ll go. Can it be Brother Cadfael come for you already?”

“No, surely not yet, they’ll still be on the watch.”

It had sounded the most deferential of knocks, but all the same, Godith sat very still behind the bolted door, and listened with strained attention to the snatches of voices that reached her from without. Aline had brought her visitor into the room. The voice that alternated with hers was a man’s, low-pitched and ardently courteous.

“Adam Courcelle!” Constance mouthed silently, and smiled her knowing smile. “So deep in love, he can’t keep away!”

“And she—Aline?” whispered Godith curiously.

“Who knows! Not she—notyet!”

Godith had heard the same voice that morning, addressing the porter and the lay servants at the gate in a very different tone. But such duties can surely give no pleasure, and may well make even a decent man ill-humoured and overbearing. This devout and considerate soul enquiring tenderly after Aline’s peace of mind might be his proper self.

“I hope you have not been too much put out by all this stir,” he was saying. “There’ll be no more disturbances, you may rest now.”

“I haven’t been molested at all,” Aline assured him serenely. “I have no complaint, you have been considerate indeed. But I’m sorry for those who have had goods distrained. Is the same thing happening in the town?”

“It is,” he said ruefully, “and will go on tomorrow, but the abbey may be at peace now. We have finished here.”

“And you did not find her? The girl you had orders to search for?”

“No, we have not found her.”

“What would you say,” asked AIine deliberately, “if I said that I was glad?”

“I should say that I would expect nothing else from you, and I honour you for it. I know you could not wish danger or pain or captivity to any creature, much less a blameless girl. I’ve learned so much of you, Aline.” The brief silence was charged, and when he resumed: “Aline—“ his voice sank so low that Godith could not distinguish the words. She did not want to, the tone was too intimate and urgent. But in a few moments she heard Aline say gently:

“You must not ask me to be very receptive tonight, this has been a harrowing day for so many. I can’t help but feel almost as weary as they must be. And as you! Leave me to sleep long tonight, there will be a better time for talking of these matters.”

“True!” he said, resuming the soldier on duty as though he squared his shoulders to a load again. “Forgive me, this was not the time. Most of my men are out of the gates by now, I’ll follow them, and let you rest. You may hear marching and the carts rolling for a quarter of an hour or so, after that it will be quiet.”

The voices receded, towards the outer door. Godith heard it opened, and after a few exchanged and inaudible words, closed again. She heard the bolt shot, and in a few moments more Aline tapped at the bedroom door. “You can safely open, he’s gone.”

She stood in the doorway, flushed and frowning, rather in private perplexity than displeasure. “It seems,” she said, and smiled in a way Adam Courcelle would have rejoiced to see, “that in sheltering you I’ve done him no wrong. I think he’s relieved at not finding you. They’re all going. It’s over. Now we have only to wait for Brother Cadfael and full darkness.”

In the hut in the herbarium Brother Cadfael fed, reassured and doctored his patient. Torold, once the first question had been answered so satisfactorily, lay down submissively on Godith’s bed, and let his shoulder be dressed again, and the gash in his thigh, already healed, nevertheless be well bandaged and padded. “For if you’re to ride into Wales this night,” said Cadfael, “we don’t want any damage or delays, you could all too easily break that open again.”

“Tonight?” said Torold eagerly. “Is it to be tonight? She and I together?”

“It is, it must, and high time, too. I don’t think I could stand this sort of thing much longer,” said Cadfael, though he sounded almost complacent about it. “Not that I’ve had too much of the pair of you, you understand, but all the same, I’ll be relieved when you’re well away towards Owain Gwynedd’s country, and what’s more, I’ll give you a token from myself to the first Welsh you encounter. Though you already have FitzAlan’s commendation to Owain, and Owain keeps his word.”

“Once mounted and started,” vowed Torold heartily, “I’ll take good care of Godith.”

“And so will she of you. I’ll see she has a pot of this salve I’ve been using on you, and a few things she may need.”

“And she took boat and load and all with her!” mused Torold, fond and proud. “How many girls could have kept their heads and done as well? And this other girl took her in! And brought you word of it, and so wisely! I tell you, Brother Cadfael, we breed fine women here in Salop.” He was silent for a moment, and grew thoughtful. “Now how are we to get her out? They may have left a guard. And anyhow, I can hardly be seen to walk out at the gate house, seeing the porter will know I never walked in that way. And the boat is there, not here.”

“Hush a while,” said Cadfael, finishing off his bandage neatly, “while I think. What about your own day? You’ve done well, it seems to me, and come out of it none the worse. And you must have left all open and innocent, for there’s been no whisper about the old mill. You caught the wind of them soon, it seems.”

Torold told him about the whole long, dangerous and yet inexpressibly tedious day of starting and stopping, running and hiding, loitering and hurrying. “I saw the company that combed the river bank and the mill, six armed men on foot, and an officer riding. But I’d made sure there was no sign of me left there. The officer went in first, alone, and then turned his men into it. I saw the same fellow again,” he recalled, suddenly alert to the coincidence, “this evening, when I crossed the ford and dived into the stack. He was riding the far bank up and down, between river and millrace, alone. I knew him by his seat in the saddle, and the horse he was riding. I’d made the crossing behind his back, and when he rode back downstream he halted right opposite, and sat and gazed straight at where I was hiding. I could have sworn he’d seen me. He seemed to be staring directly at me. And smiling! I was sure I was found out. But then he rode on. He can’t have seen me, after all.”

Cadfael put away his medicines very thoughtfully. He asked mildly: “And you knew him by his horse again? What was so notable about it?”

“The size and colour. A great, gaunt, striding beast, not beautiful but strong, and dappled clean through from creamy belly to a back and quarters all but black.”

Cadfael scrubbed at his blunt brown nose, and scratched his even browner tonsure. “And the man?”

“A young fellow hardly older than I. Blackavised, and a light build to him. All I saw of him this morning was the clothes he wore and the way he rode, very easy on what I should guess might be a hard-mouthed brute. But I saw his face tonight. Not much flesh, and bold bones, and black eyes and brows. He whistles to himself,” said Torold, surprised at remembering this. “Very sweetly!”

So he did! Cadfael also remembered. The horse, too, he recalled, left behind in the abbey stables when two better and less noticeable had been withdrawn. Two, their owner had said, he might be willing to sacrifice, but not all four, and not the pick of the four. Yet the cull had been made, and still he rode one of the remaining two, and doubtless the other, also, was still at his disposal. So he had lied. His position with the king was already assured, he had even been on duty in today’s raiding. Very selective duty? And if so, who had selected it?

“And you thought he had seen you cross?”

“When I was safe hidden I looked, and he’d turned my way. I thought he’d seen me moving, from the corner of his eye.”

That one, thought Cadfael, has eyes all round his head, and what he misses is not worth marking. But all he said to Torold was: “And he halted and stared across at you, and then rode on?”

“I even thought he lifted his bridle-hand a thought to me,” owned Torold, grinning at his own credulity. “By that time I doubt I was seeing visions at every turn, I was so wild to get to Godith. But then he just turned and rode on, easy as ever. So he can’t have seen me, after all.”

Cadfael pondered the implications of all this in wonder and admiration. Light was dawning as dusk fell into night. Not complete darkness yet, simply the departure of the sun, afterglow and all, leaving a faint greenish radiance along the west; not complete dawn, but a promising confirmation of the first elusive beams.

“He can’t have, can he?” demanded Torold, fearful that he might have drawn danger after him all too near to Godith.

“Never a fear of it,” said Cadfael confidently. “All’s well, child, don’t fret, I see my way. And now it’s time for me to go to Compline. You may drop the bolt after me, and lie down here on Godith’s bed and get an hour or so of sleep, for by dawn you’ll be needing it. I’ll come back to you as soon as service is over.”

He did, however, spare the few minutes necessary to amble through the stables, and was not surprised to note that neither the dapple-grey nor its companion, the broad-backed brown cob, was in its stall. An innocent visit to the guest hall after Compline further confirmed that Hugh Beringar was not there in the apartments for gentlefolk, nor were his three men-at-arms present among the commonalty. The porter recalled that the three retainers had gone forth soon after Beringar had ridden in from his day’s duties at the end of the hunt, about the time that Vespers ended, and Beringar himself had followed, in no apparent haste, an hour or so later.

So that’s how things stand, is it? thought Cadfael. He’s staked his hand that’s it’s to be tonight, and is willing to stand or fall on his wager. Well, since he’s so bold and so shrewd to read my mind, let’s see how good I am at reading his, and I’ll stake just as boldly.

Well, then: Beringar knew from the first that his service with the king was accepted and his horses safe enough, therefore he wanted them removed for some other purpose of his own. And made a fellow-conspirator of me! Why? He could have found a refuge for himself if he’d really needed one. No, he wanted me to know just where the horses were, available and inviting. He knew I had two people to deliver out of this town and out of the king’s hold, and would jump at his offer for my own ends. He offered me the bait of two horses so that I should transfer the treasury to the same place, ready for flight. And finally, he had no need to hunt for his fugitives, he had only to sit back and leave it to me to bring them to the grange as soon as I could, and then he had everything in one spot, ready to be gathered in.

It follows, therefore, that tonight he’ll be waiting for us, and this time with his armed men at his back.

There were still details that baffled the mind. If Beringar had indeed turned a blind eye to Torold’s hiding-place this evening, for what purpose? Granted he did not know at this moment where Godith was, and might choose to let one bird fly in order to secure its mate also. But now that Cadfael came to consider all that had passed there was no escaping the possibility, to put it no higher, that throughout, Beringar had been turning a similarly blind and sparkling eye to Godith’s boyish disguise, and had had a very shrewd idea of where his missing bride was to be found. In that case, if he had known Godric was Godith, and that one of FitzAlan’s men was in hiding in the old mill, then as soon as he had satisfied himself that Cadfael had recovered the treasure for him he could simply have gone in force and gathered in all three prizes, and delivered them to a presumably delighted and grateful king. If he had not done so, but chosen this furtive way, it must mean something different. As, for instance, that his intent was to secure Godith and Torold and duly hand them over for his reward, but despatch FitzAlan’s gold, not back to Shrewsbury, but by his own men, or indeed in person, to his own home manor, for his own private use. In which case the horses had been moved not only to fool a simple old monk, but to transfer the treasure direct to Maesbury in complete secrecy, without having to go near Shrewsbury.